What's The Worst That Could Happen?
by Marvin is my Muse
Summary: His eyes observed the familiar dance of flames he’d seen so many times. His nose smelled the scent of burning that so often brought forth feelings of victory but now held only the taint of death and grief and guilt. Deathfic


**Title:** What's The Worst That Could Happen? (Warning deathfic)

**Fandom:** Supernatural  
**Characters/Pairings:** Dean with some John at the end (a little Mary and Sam), no pairings  
**Rating:** G   
**Spoilers:** Mild spoilers for the Pilot and Nightmare (VERY mild). Takes place in S1  
**Disclaimer:** I wish, I don't own anything that pretty and broken.  
**Summary:** His eyes observed the familiar dance of flames he'd seen so many times. His nose smelled the scent of burning that so often brought forth feelings of victory but now held only the taint of death and grief and guilt.

**Author's Note: **This is my first death fic and I don't usually read them either but this idea swooped into my head so I decided to run with it since I've had writers block for the past couple of weeks. Oh the Angst! Anyway, please tell me what you think. Thanks!

And now onto the ANGST!...

Dean stared. His eyes observed the familiar dance of flames he'd seen so many times. His nose smelled the scent of burning that so often brought forth feelings of victory but now held only the taint of death and grief and guilt. He watched the flames burn away the most important thing in his life, his very reason for living, and he couldn't look away. His mind distantly noted that, ironically, fire, one of the most important weapons in the hunt, had now taken everything away from him. Everyone except his dad. The thought that he should call his dad and tell him penetrated the numbness surrounding him. He quickly pushed the thought away. He didn't know where his dad was, if he was even alive and, if he was, if he even wanted anything to do with him anymore. Especially now. Sammy was gone. Dean had failed and now Sammy was gone.

"_As long as I'm around, nothing bad is going to happen to you…"_

Dean recalled the words of comfort he had offered his brother so many months ago. Words meant to comfort, to reassure, to soothe. Hollow words, empty words, echoing back to haunt him and his unfulfilled promises.

"_It's okay Sammy"_

Whispered words outside the fire that first ripped into his life and tore his family to pieces. Words meant to comfort, to reassure, to soothe. Words Sammy didn't remember but Dean did. Words that were followed by his father's protected embrace, their world narrowing down to one broken, grieving family.

He watched as his beloved brother became mere dust and ash. The cool night air ruffled his hair and he felt the shadow of a touch, both familiar and painful, on his leather clad shoulder. "Sammy," half sob, half cry, giving voice to his grief, encompassing his pain. He turned his head up and gazed at the night sky. So much of their lives took place in the darkness, their work forcing them to develop night-eyes. But now, without Sammy, he was blind, his inner light doused, his shine dimmed. He was a shadow himself now, and he could only focus on one thing. The hunt. Nothing else mattered now. Nothing but the family business.

"…_saving people, hunting things…"_

Avenging his brother and attempting to purge himself of his own sins. Everything but the guilt, he would keep the guilt and the anger, nurture it, care for it and use it. Use it to kill any evil son of a bitch that crossed his path, use it so that when his own time came, he could look Sammy in the eye, if only for a moment. With his newfound determination, Dean gazed at Sam for the last time. "I'm sorry Sammy," he chocked out, "Goodbye." He turned and walked towards the Impala, the only thing he had left, without once looking back.

The next day John got a voice message from Dean telling him of Sam's death. Three weeks later, after frantically searching for him, he held his son's dying body, whispering soothing words of comfort as Dean shivered and shook next to the bodies of the werewolves he'd been hunting. After he watched the once-bright spark fade from his son's eyes, John ate a bullet, rejoining his once-broken family in death.

A small group of hunters gathered to mourn the loss of the Winchesters before departing on their separate hunts.

And, in another world, quite different from our own, a little boy ran to greet his returning father, his mother following with an infant in her arms. The family entered their home together once more.


End file.
